Silhouettes
by seaquell
Summary: Katniss is a private investigator, her biggest case being the mysterious murder of her father. Peeta manages to get in the middle of her business, literally and figuratively, without even being her client. Everlark AU set in Panem.
1. We'll hate what we've lost

**The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins. Few lines in this chapter are taken from THG and Rob Thomas' show Veronica Mars (which you should all watch).**

**A/N: **_This is the first fanfic I've written in years and the first one in English ever, so I apologize for any mistakes. I feel like you should know this is set in the same world Collins created, except there are no Games (at least not anymore) and even people from the poorer districts have cars, cell phones, etc. If you have any questions you can find me on tumblr as seaquell. Thanks to zed0hh for prereading. Feedback is appreciated!_

* * *

I'm never getting married. You want an absolute? Well, there it is.

Sooner or later, the people you love let you down. They cheat, they lie, they tell you they are at a business meeting in town when in reality they are sleeping with your best friend in a cheap motel in the Seam.

But do me a favor and if it's you in there, dispense with the cuddling. This motel thirst, it is what it is. Make it quick. The person sitting in the car across the street might have a 12-year-old sister who has trouble sleeping without her, and she can't leave until she gets the money shot.

Yes, I make money by finding people's dirty secrets and giving the evidence to already suspecting something, willing to pay from their little savings, people. Yes, I'm also aware I live in district 12, where doing such thing costs me to break more laws than I can count on my fingers. I'm 16, so I'm not even supposed to have a job unless it's listed as my family's business and only merchants have that. We from the Seam are supposed to work in the mines. It's a way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. It's to the Capitol's advantage to have us divided among ourselves.

But it's been 4 years since my father's death and we have to survive somehow. They want me to continue my parent's job? Investigating is just that.

I am doing my father's duty which really was doing the Peacekeepers' duty. When he was alive, he took every single case, always working on more than one at the same time. He didn't do it just for the money, though it _was_ a bonus to our barely held together family of four, he did it because it was the right thing to do. You'd be surprised how many people showed up, both merchants and from the Seam, reporting stolen jewels, looking for missing pets, suspecting theft and other more personal stuff, like adultery. He made my life and so many others' better. He gave people hope.

Peacekeepers don't bother with those little things that make up our society. I'm certain they're in the district just to see us crumble down, so it's not hard to understand why they wouldn't waste their time on a runaway kitten. One of the few times you could happen to encounter a Peacekeeper is when they're patrolling at night for citizens that aren't inside their homes after 10pm. That's for the sole reason that they could get some money from the poor people as penalty. If you dare reason with them or even speak back, you get 10 whips on a good day. They're always jumpy, always quick to make the verdict, as if they're running from something. They feed off violence and, ironically, caught illegally wild turkey.

The Capitol rules we're supposed to follow are so twisted they make you think you're safe when you aren't. Citizens aren't supposed to own a gun or any kind of weapon which decreases the chances of robberies and murders, but Peacekeepers don't have trouble pulling a gun to your head for nothing. There are actually a lot of things that are punishable by death. Just because they don't bother finding the criminals doesn't mean they won't kill them when shoved in their face. I try my best to handle everything on my own, so that they no one gets punished or killed and there's only been a few extreme cases I've had to drop anonymous tips to the so called police force.

The thing is, when in danger you can't protect yourself. That's why my father died. He was shot on the street, right in the chest. There is no way dad wouldn't have seen him or her or them coming, from the angle and distance the trigger was pulled. I know he is- _was_ more than capable of protecting himself, but his scare of the Capitol hurting him or our family probably overpowered him. Everyone has seen the damage Peacekeepers can cost on those who dared to go against them or the stupid law at the whipping post. I've seen innocent people get punished just for saying a word.

So if a word can damn nearly get you killed, why am I doing something that is really likely I'll get caught at and _get_ killed?

I didn't use to be like this. I was quite rebellious, alright, but even I wasn't happy about the way my father provided food on the table. And then he died… and I became obsessed with the idea of finding out how he was murdered, why, by whom. I still am. I am very much my father's daughter. It doesn't help that no one, even the police force (_especially_ the police force, they had their doubts about how our family got along so well with only my mother working as a healer and my father quitting the mines) wouldn't do anything about it. All this country did was wipe the red strains of blood off the street and give us some money (not enough, not even close to enough), more to shut us up about the ''accident'' than for us to get a start without him.

The money went as quick as it came. Mother insisted we keep the second floor of our house too – dad's office, even if we could get some cash for it. She wasn't ready to let go of him, she still isn't. I haven't seen much more emotion on her face since then. She doesn't work anymore. At first when clients still came knocking on the door I had to send them back home. Sometimes my sister Primrose felt too bad and tried to help them herself, but there wasn't much an 8-year-old could do and the little medicine we had, we kept for ourselves.

That left me. When I first started investigating I was barely 12. My first and still unresolved case is my father's murder. I needed to go through his files, see if he was working on something more serious than cheating wives and husbands, follow his every move that got him on the place he died.

I had been to my father's working place to bring him food when he was so involved with something he forgot easy routines or just to hang around with Prim after we came back from school, but I had never dared to get a close look at what exactly he was doing.

I found out for the first time what my father did behind closed doors. Pictures of secret affairs, stolen belongings, long documents and reports he couldn't have gotten legally were scattered everywhere. He was doing what the government thought to be a waste of time.

Maybe it was. I haven't heard of anyone divorcing someone in the district _ever_. I feel like it's sort of a mutual agreement between two people – get married, live together to spend less money, have children to continue the family business, do whatever and whoever you want… Wives and, more often than you think, husbands won't do a thing if I serve them on a silver plate a picture of their beloved one in a inappropriate position. They're just dying to know whether it's someone from the slag heap or someone closer than they think they're being cheated with. It's a small district. Well, my parents had a wonderful marriage and most money comes from those without one, so it works for me.

I focus my attention on the couple behind the window and take a snapshot. I catch the man's face, but if you didn't know for sure the woman he was with, you wouldn't put a name on her. I sigh, looking at the blurry picture. Before his death, under different circumstances, dad taught me how to use a bow. In the past three years I've perfected that skill and now I keep one in the back of the car like he used to, just in case and mostly because my mother insisted. However, I have yet to get better with his old camera.

The man closes the curtains, the woman still not in my view. Now I have to wait until they come out. Seriously people, make it quick.

I don't mind waiting, I go to bed late anyways and most times don't get any sleep at all, but while my sister was just worried when father came home late, now she's worried and _not sleeping_. Unlike mom, who just keeps silent, Prim insists she's over his death, but her screams at night say otherwise.

If I wasn't scared we'd get caught (by Peacekeepers, others can't really do any damage), maybe I'd take her with me on stakeouts. Prim's basically home alone, with our mother the way she is. She asks to take pictures of flowers and herbs every time we go to the meadow, so I know she's good at that or at least better than me, with my shaky hands and uncertainty. Put a bow in my hands and I'd shoot the target in a second; put a camera in my hands and you'll be wondering what the target even is.

Now that I think about it, I really should hire someone to do the job for me. That way I may be able to do most of the work from home, letters, telephone calls and all. We have more money now, enough to spare some for a fee. I can also pay in old clothes or fresh meat, caught by me, again _illegally_.

Remembering that one night a few months ago when I found her huddled in a corner in the closet, crying and whimpering, when it took me hours to calm her, does it for me. I decide when I go to the black market, called the Hob, next time I trade I'll spread the word around. If the merchants wanted to rat me out, they would've done it already, but those from the Seam need the job more.

About an hour later, going over my history lesson concerning a brutal competition called The Hunger Games which used to take place annually in our country years ago, I finally see movement on the porch of the couple's room they've rented in _Appalachia_, the cheapest motel in the district, surely not one that visitors from the Capitol would prefer. The man is coming out, his jacket in hands, the woman still standing at the doorway. They talk for a while, giving me time to get my camera ready.

He leans in to kiss her, just as I take my first shot. Second shot, she's pressed up against the door, hands in his hair. Third shot, Ellesse Mellark is watching her lover walk away with a satisfied smirk I plan to wipe right off her face.


	2. Carry your hurt

**The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins. This chapter has lines taken from THG. I like to keep things close to canon, even in an AU fic. The last line includes one of my favorite proverbs.**

* * *

The next morning I'm running late to meet my hunting partner and best friend, Gale. Not only did I come home late last night but I had to calm Prim and organize the collected pictures. Even after I laid down next to my deeply sleeping sister, I had trouble getting comfortable. Sleep found me just a couple of hours before I was supposed be awake again. I guess I decided to overlook that.

I climb the hills and find him at to our place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley. His game bag is already full.

''Hey,'' I greet, plopping down next to him. ''Sorry I totally wasted our day, I overslept.''

''Wild night?'' Gale asks, popping a berry into his mouth.

''Try boring, I had the longest stake out ever.'' I don't say more, because of confidentiality and all of that. I _am_ good at what I do, if you exclude the photo-taking part. Gale frowns at this. Other than my job, the Capitol is probably the only thing he is against more. We've argued about this too many times and it never ends well, so I'd rather not go into it again. ''It's not even noon yet, we can still hunt some more, if you want?''

''There's no point. I have enough, so you can take some,'' he says with a shrug.

''Oh, thanks. We have some meat, but I'd need fresh to trade.'' At times like these I'm glad for all these wasted hours in the night, because otherwise my family would still be eating dandelions for dinner. Now I have one thing less to worry about, though sometimes I still find myself counting every coin.

''I'm keeping the rabbits and a squirrel, but we can see about the rest in the Hob,'' Gale says, getting up.

''Um, I actually promised the baker I'll bring him a few squirrels.'' It's a lie and I have other reasons to go see the baker, but Gale won't question it. ''Maybe you could go to The Hob, I to the bakery and we'll meet later?''

Agreeing to go to his house when we're done, we start our walk back to the real world.

* * *

Standing in front of the bakery's kitchen door, I don't waste time overthinking, because I know it could mean losing my nerve, so I knock quickly. Though, after seeing me more than once look over inside worriedly while we trade, Mr. Mellark has told me that his wife doesn't do much work in the kitchen, I still worry. All of the reasons a Seam child could possibly be in town are illegal, or at least more than enough to cause a scandal, and if she catches me near her house again I'm sure she won't be afraid to rat me out and then it will all be over because of me being too careless and can someone please open the damn door already?

I'm too busy praying that the person isn't female that I completely forget just how many _males_ occupy the lot. Imagine the panic that sets in when Peeta, the youngest Mellark, opens the door.

_Oh, no,_ I think. _Not him. _Because I know I can't do it. Delivering the news to him would mean coming full circle from all the years I've spent despising his witch of a mother after seeing just what kind of a _mother_ she is.

He seems just as startled as me, but he manages to get a hold of himself faster.

''Katniss,'' he starts. ''How are you?''

Peeta Mellark and I are not friends. Not even neighbours. We don't speak. Our only real interaction happened years ago. He's probably forgotten it. But I haven't and I know I never will.

It was during the worst time. Three months after my father's death, when my mother didn't do anything but sit propped up in a chair or, more often, huddled under the blankets on her bed, eyes fixed on some point in the distance; when me and my sister were under the threat of being placed in the community home; when we were slowly starving to death.

Starvation's not an uncommon fate in District 12. Who hasn't seen the victims? Older people who can't work. Children from a family with too many to feed. Those injured in the mines. Straggling through the streets. And one day, you come upon them sitting motionless against a wall or lying in the Meadow, you hear the wails from a house, and the Peacekeepers are called in to retrieve the body. Starvation is never the cause of death officially. It's always the flu, or exposure, or pneumonia. But that fools no one.

On the afternoon of my encounter with Peeta Mellark, the rain was falling in relentless icy sheets. I had been in town, trying to trade some threadbare old baby clothes of Prim's in the public market, but there were no takers. Although I had been to the Hob on several occasions with my father, at that point I was still too frightened to venture into that rough, gritty place alone. The rain had soaked through my father's hunting jacket, leaving me chilled to the bone. For three days, we'd had nothing but boiled water with some old dried mint leaves I'd found in the back of a cupboard. By the time the market closed, I was shaking so hard I dropped my bundle of baby clothes in a mud puddle. I didn't pick it up for fear I would keel over and be unable to regain my feet. Besides, no one wanted those clothes.

I found myself stumbling along a muddy lane behind the shops that serve the wealthiest townspeople. The merchants live above their businesses, so I was essentially in their backyards. When I passed the baker's, the smell of fresh bread was so overwhelming I felt dizzy. The ovens were in the back, and a golden glow spilled out the open kitchen door. I stood mesmerized by the heat and the luscious scent until the rain interfered, running its icy fingers down my back, forcing me back to life. Lifting the lid to the baker's trash bin was another one of my illegal actions. I found it spotlessly, heartlessly bare.

Suddenly a voice was screaming at me and I looked up to see the baker's wife, telling me to move on and did I want her to call the Peacekeepers and how sick she was of having those brats from the Seam pawing through her trash. The words were ugly and I had no defense. As I carefully replaced the lid and backed away, I noticed him, a boy with blond hair peering out from behind his mother's back. I'd seen him at school. He was in my year, but I didn't know his name. He stuck with the town kids, so how would I? His mother went back into the bakery, grumbling, but he must have been watching me as I made my way behind the pen that held their pig and leaned against the far side of an old apple tree. The realization that I'd have nothing to take home had finally sunk in. My knees buckled and I slid down the tree trunk to its roots. It was too much. I was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. _Let them_ _call the Peacekeepers and take us to the community home, _I thought. _Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain._

There was a clatter in the bakery and I heard the woman screaming again and the sound of a blow, and I vaguely wondered what was going on. Feet sloshed toward me through the mud and I thought, _It's her. She's coming to drive me away with_ _a stick. _But it wasn't her. It was the boy. In his arms, he carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crusts were scorched black. His mother was yelling, "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" He began to tear off chunks from the burned parts and toss them into the trough, and the front bakery bell rung and the mother disappeared to help a customer. The boy never even glanced my way, but I was watching him. Because of the bread, because of the red weal that stood out on his cheekbone. What had she hit him with? Despite the cold, I still felt myself warm up with rage.

The boy took one look back to the bakery as if checking that the coast was clear, then, his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he sloshed back to the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly behind him. The same kitchen door we're standing in front of right now.

''I'm fine,'' I manage to croak out. _You're the reason I'm fine._

And I'm the reason he got punished. The question whether he dropped the loaves into the flames on purpose still haunts me, but I've gotten used to the idea that that's a case that could never be solved.

Still, just throwing me the bread was an enormous kindness that I could never possibly repay. It's also why telling him how much kinder his mother can get with strangers than with any member of her own family is not something I can handle doing. Of course, if everything goes according to plan, he will have to learn eventually. If he hasn't learned already. Either way I am not going to be handing the evidence to him.

''Should I get my father?'' Peeta asks.

''What?'' His father's face is the last one I want to see right now. Right after his mother's, obviously, especially after last night.

''He's doing a delivery a few houses down. You're here to trade, right? I don't really know how that works.'' He laughs softly and for a moment I'm so transfixed with the sound I almost miss the fact that he knows I hunt. This is the first time anyone other than Mr. Mellark has met me at the door and I can't exactly imagine the family discussing my squirrels over dinner. I find that it doesn't bother me. I wonder if he knows my other secret. He should, considering if he hadn't gotten me on my feet, I wouldn't have either of them.

''Um, I'm actually in a hurry, so maybe we could just get to it? I mean, I'll tell you what we usually exchange and- If you trust me, that is,'' I rant.

''Why wouldn't I trust you?'' He seems truly confused.

_Because I'm Seam._ ''Because I'm a complete stranger,'' I respond.

Peeta laughs again. ''No, you're not,'' he says and my heart races involuntarily. ''We go to school together,'' he finishes, not smiling anymore and I can breathe again. I'm not quite sure if I'm relieved or upset.

''Okay. Any preferences?'' I ask, though I know I don't have much game today. If it means beginning to repay him my debt, I'll at least make sure I have what he wants next time.

''You got a couple of squirrels in there?'' He nods towards my bag.

''Yeah,'' I say, getting two out and handing them to him. I don't know why but I can't help but notice our hands don't touch. ''Anything else?''

''That's enough for today, thank you, Katniss. I'll be right back.'' He's closed the door behind him before I can argue or even respond. Besides, what could I possibly say? I can't force myself or what I'm selling. Not that I need to anymore. I have no right to be upset.

I've barely registered the fact that I haven't let Peeta know how much does a squirrel usually cost, before he's back carrying a paper bag that looks fuller than the one with my game.

He gives it to me, a smile back on his face. It's heavy and it warms my hands. I'm hesitant to take a look inside. I have the right to be, because nothing could've prepared me or Peeta for my reaction at the two large loaves of bread, cheese buns and different kinds of pastries.

''No.'' I try to give the bag back to him, but he doesn't take the hint, so our first skin-to-skin contact, after all the anticipation, ends up being me forcing him to grasp it.

''What's wrong? Did you want coins instead? Does my father usually give you more?'' Peeta shoots question after question, neither one of them being close to right. He is now not only pitying me, but also accusing me of gluttony. As if anyone in the district can afford or allow that.

''You don't get to do that,'' I say curtly, but then continue. ''I'm not a helpless child anymore. What is it _you_ want?'' There isn't a way to repay him. There's nothing to repay. There's only pity. I see the understanding dawning on him and I know he remembers.

''Katniss, I never-'' Peeta starts, but his words betray him. He sighs, then begins again, trying another tactic. ''Most of them aren't even from today.''

''Don't lie to me!'' Does he know who he's talking to?

''Fine. Perhaps I was just trying to be kind. There's no law against that, is there?'' _Perhaps_ he _does_ know who he's talking to.

''Why?'' It's all I know. _Question everything always._

''We go to school together?'' He tries and if I wasn't glaring at him before, I am now. Peeta sighs. ''I don't know. It felt like the right thing. It _feels_ like the right thing. I don't have any more answers for you, but I can tell you for sure that ''pity'' wouldn't be one of them.''

''I'm taking the two loaves,'' I say firmly. ''And one of those cheese buns.''

* * *

I don't get to the Hawthorne's house before bumping into yet another Mellark. Just near the edge of town, I spy the eldest brother. I start stomping forward the moment I recognize him.

''Where the hell have you been?'' I demand.

''What happened? I swear, I was sure mother wouldn't come down today,'' Bannock says. He _has_ assured me of this, just like his father.

''She wasn't down,'' I calm him. ''But so wasn't your father.'' I see the realization dawn on him, as his eyes brighten and a smile spreads across his face.

''Oh, Peet,'' he laughs out.

''I'm glad you find this amusing, I really do.'' He won't when his nose is bleeding all over his white merchant shirt. His tardiness has cost me my first real interaction with Peeta Mellark. I guess it's _caused_ it too. Even if the shoe didn't drop where I had imagined it would, at least it dropped.

''Wait. You didn't tell him anything, did you?'' Bannock's smile disappears.

''I'm not supposed to. The fact that you're related doesn't change the fact that I'm working just for you.'' I don't tell him that the case being private has almost nothing to do with me not wanting to spill the news to Peeta.

Remembering what we're having this conversation for in the first place, I give him the folder with the pictures from last night. I don't worry about Peacekeepers, because even if Bannock isn't a student anymore, if they see us they'd still guess we're exchanging notes or homework, or something more standard.

''It's enough, I hope,'' I say and I mean it. I hope it's enough for Mr. Mellark to finally see what kind of a woman he's married, since apparently her being abusive isn't enough. I hope it's enough for her to realize her actions have consequences. I hope it's enough for someone in this poor district to finally gain the courage to do what they feel like is right. Isn't that what Peeta tried to do today?

After that rainy day when he saved my life, I passed him in the school hall. His cheek had swelled up and his eye had blackened. He was with his friends and didn't acknowledge me in any way. But as I collected Prim and started for home that afternoon, I found him staring at me from across the school yard. Our eyes met for only a second, then he turned his head away. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed, and that's when I saw it. The first dandelion of the year. A bell went off in my head. I thought of the hours spent in the woods with my father and I knew how we were going to survive. To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed.

Most of all, I hope it reminds him, too, that no matter how long the winter, spring is sure to follow.


	3. I feel a separation coming on

**The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

**A/N: **_Please, please, __**please**__ review! This truly scary sometimes and I need your guidance. Tell me your favorite parts, tell me your least favorite parts, tell me __**anything**__._

I'm having lunch alone.

That's not anything new or even a bit surprising.

What's new and almost has me choking on my apple, is the person I occasionally spend the break with, Madge Undersee, and Gale walking in the cafeteria together. I don't have time to react before they've both sat down on my table. _Next to each other._

I take a small sip from my water, mostly to keep myself from saying something I might regret. Thankfully, Madge isn't any shyer than ever, as she starts the conversation. I don't know why I expected her to act differently with an extra person on our table.

"Sorry I'm late. Peacekeepers held everyone up after P.E.," she says, taking out her lunch. As always, she places most of it in the middle of the table, in a silent offering. This time it's a bowl of salad and a bag of biscuits. At first it was hard for me to accept anything, but now I reach out for a biscuit without thinking about it too much. Madge knows I'll bring her strawberries next Sunday. What she doesn't know is who collects them more often than not. I push the bowl closer to Gale.

"Why?" I can't help myself. It's become a habit, this need to know everything. What would Peacekeepers be doing in school? It's one of the only places we're free to do whatever we want, as long as we attend. Grades don't matter much. Everyone ends up working the same job, an excellent student or a complete failure. Big deal if you can recite the over 300 pages of laws and regulations applicable to coal mining while you're doing it underground.

"There was an argument. You know how Mrs. Williford is, she just_ had_ to go and alert them," Madge explains.

"An _argument_? Mellark broke that guy's nose," Gale intervenes.

"Well, that guy had it coming from the beginning of the class,"

"You haven't heard half of it. Should've been there in math, he had some even nicer things to say about his father,"

They go on recounting, not realizing I'm frozen. I'm only half aware of what I'm doing, as I push the leftovers of my sandwich towards them and grab my bag. I only half hear Gale's worried "Catnip?" and Madge's chair turning.

Though he doesn't do much work, the school still has a so called principal. He's so old he doesn't dare leave his office, but he's always, always there, as the useless rules oblige. I see him only on the first and last day of every school year. Thankfully, I haven't had my fair share of going to the principal's office. I do know though that that's where you're taken to if you get in trouble on school grounds. I know that's where Peeta is.

When I arrive though, the only person I find is his father, sitting on a rotten sofa right next to the office's door. He's leaning on his knees, head in hands, so he doesn't notice me. Even in a hurry my steps are soundless. I don't have time to somehow get his attention before the door is swinging open.

I'm standing right in front of the office, so my gray eyes lock with blue immediately. Rye's steely gaze doesn't stay on mine for long, turning instead to his father.

"I get two Saturdays in the mines and a warning. A last one," he grumbles. All talk and no bite, once again. For the first time I'm grateful.

He's walking away, not waiting for his father, not waiting for me. Not that I'd know what to say or do. I notice his limp, faintly remember the red stains of blood on his lips and before I know it I'm bursting out "Wait! You should come home with me."

Rye turns around and, oh, if looks could kill… "For my mother to check out the damage, I mean," I add, slightly unsure the more time passes, but still determined to help out. I did know what to expect and this is certainly not the first time I'm feeling guilty over the aftermath of a case. However it's a surprise how much I wish I could take everything back right now, even if it's not the right thing to do. Seeing Rye this upset makes me feel uneasy and I don't want to know what kind of feelings _Peeta_ is going to bring out. Right now, I see an opportunity to help out. If I'm just allowed to.

"You've already done enough. Thank you, Katniss," Rye says with a smile that deceives no one. I don't think it's supposed to. In fact it has the exact effect he meant it to, making me feel sick.

I'm stuck in the moment, watching him drag his feet away from me, so I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Thank you, Katniss," Mr. Mellark says and this, _this_ is genuine.

"Don't thank me. I'm going to bring some salve or something after school," I nod to reassure both him and myself.

* * *

It doesn't end up being that easy.

"Katniss, I can't just give you a full jar when you're not willing to bring the person to me and when you say it's not for trading," my mother repeats for what seems like the hundredth time.

"It's an emergency. I made a promise. I owe somebody something," I try to say calmly, but by the end I'm barely getting the words out.

"Katniss, what is going on?" For once I wish it was one of her bad days. Then, if I wanted 10 jars, I'd have them.

"Just give it to me."

''Katniss-"

"This is the first time I've wanted something from you in the last 5 years, why can't you just do this for me?!" I try my best not to yell, knowing Prim is in the next room, but it's hard.

That shuts her up for awhile, but then she asks more timidly, as if afraid of the answer, "Katniss, who is this for?"

"It's for the Mellarks, okay?" I sigh, getting out of the house to go sit on the porch, where I usually take a look at cases when the weather's good. It's late November and I should be finding another way around this in my dad's office, but I deserve the way my bare hands tremble, how my eyes burn. My nose hasn't gotten to run before the door opens and my coat is placed around my shoulders.

The pocket is heavy.

* * *

I don't waste any time before knocking on the door. It's freezing, I don't know how crucial Rye's injuries are and my fear of the baker's wife (or whatever she is now) can't compare to my determination.

Peeta answers even faster than yesterday. His expression is unreadable and I read expressions for a job.

"Hello," I say after a silent moment of our usual staring. It comes out sounding more like an apology would rather than a greeting. As soon as I've handed him the jar of salve, I put my freezing hands in the pockets of my coat. "For your brother."

"The bakery's not open today," Peeta says, his eyes on the jar. That's what must've gotten people talking. The bakery's _always_ open. "I don't have anything to give you."

"I wasn't expecting anything," I assure him. _I've done enough. _His gaze strays to me and stays there for so long without blinking, I wonder how he's not crying against the cold.

"So there really _isn't_ a law for trying to be kind?" He asks, making a smile appear on my face. There's no denying now, the truth in his words yesterday.

"Not if it feels like the right thing." This can't be wrong. "Or if you go to school with the person," I quip, making him smile too.

"I'll be right back," Peeta says, disappearing into the kitchen and once more I'm brought back to yesterday. If history keeps repeating itself, this time I won't be able to go around accepting his generosity, so I should probably go right now. But he already said the bakery's closed, didn't he? I decide to wait him out, more curious than anything. It's awhile before he's back, but he's got his coat and boots on.

"Rye said to thank you," he tells me, closing the door behind him.

"No, he didn't."

"No, he didn't," he confirms. "But his sighs of relief said otherwise. Can I walk you home? The wind is so strong and you're so small, I'm afraid it'll blow you away."

I snort, knowing I can get home just safely, the same way I made my way here. But the wind _is_ strong. We won't be overheard by the small amount of people that have dared to go out in this weather and if there's a time to talk, this is it.

Neither one of us has taken a chance to start the conversation by the time we're at the edge of town, just where I met Bannock yesterday. Remembering my thoughts and knowing time's running out gives me the courage to begin.

"So what exactly happened to Rye, anyway?" I ask as if we've been talking all the way up to here.

"Nobody told you?" Peeta asks, surprised as if I've just told him I never knew school's out on weekends.

"I'm sorry I'm not friends with the entire district," I snap. I _did_ find out from my friends but that wasn't his suggestion. "I know he got in a fight and he had to go to the principal's. I meant what set it off."

"I didn't mean to say you don't have friends." I guess he gets my own suggestions too. "I'm sorry, I just thought you knew, since it seems to be the daily topic in the district… school especially, I guess, I didn't go today. And a part of me thought you'd figure it out. I should've known you don't know, since you came to the bakery despite it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Despite having not been at school, Peeta tells me what he got from Delly Cartwright, a friend of his, and the little he managed to pry from his father. The talk was already started the moment the town kids noticed Peeta's absence. Apparently there was just one person who knew or at least thought he knew the details – the judge's son, Ewald Camden. Assuming Peeta was home with the flu, Delly had said she'd make sure to bring him the homework with some soup later, when Ewald suddenly intervened. Making himself seem like he knew more than even Peeta's closest friend, he'd confidently said "_school's the least of Mellark's problems_" and "_if I had the kind of mother he has, I wouldn't be able to stomach even soup_". Suddenly everyone became interested in the conversation, friend and strangers, town and Seam; and Ewald wasn't exactly keeping out the details either. He'd told them about the early phone call his father received, an "emergency situation". Apparently a case about a divorce to the judge equals a case about a murder to me. Both one in a million.

By lunch, the entire school knew about the first divorce in the district our generation has ever witnessed, _who_ was getting divorced and, the thing that caused the most noise - _why_. Except me, obviously. _Except_ I knew first, I just didn't know _everyone_ knew.

If anyone had any doubt whether the story was just a rumor… well, it was erased the moment everything exploded - math class. The same class Gale had talked about. The class with both Ewald and Rye. Rye, about who there are constant _rumors_ regarding girls, all of them which he's ignored with a smirk all through high school.

"I guess after Ewald said some nasty things about, I quote, "_our sad excuse of a dad_", Rye didn't feel like smirking anymore." Peeta sighs.

"I thought it was you."

"What?" Peeta looks at me. Not a surprise he didn't hear my mumbled against the wind, unexplained sentence.

"When I learnt that one of the Mellark brothers got in a fight, I thought it was you," I admit, more loudly this time. Peeta laughs.

"If I hadn't stayed home today… I don't know, maybe that's how things would've turned out. Or no one would've gotten in a fight, because I would've calmed Rye down. Yeah, probably that. Ewald can't get to me, despite the fact that there was truth to be found in his words," Peeta says, leaving me with so many questions that I yet again end up speechless for a moment.

"Why were you home?" I decide to ask first.

"Had to help dad separate what little belongings he has from my mom's," he says and for once keeps his eyes away from mine. That's how I know he's hiding something. Katniss, _me_, feels this, not the investigator.

"Why isn't your mom the one separating the things? You don't trust her?"

"Oh, no, she did it too, mostly with what's left at the bakery - flour, eggs, things that we can't just leave for an unknown amount of time. Could hear her angry talking to herself all the way from the bedrooms." _They_ can't just leave? For an unknown amount of time?

"Wait, why didn't the bakery work today? Are you closing officially? What is she making you do?" I ask, question after question.

"She's not making us do anything, Katniss," Peeta says, sadly. "I don't think she knew what she was signing up for when she refused to sign the divorce papers."

Oh no.

"She refused?" I stop walking and stand in front of Peeta, making him stop too. I don't care if people watch, I have a feeling this is going to turn out to be like a boring commercial compared to the performances they're going to get in the upcoming weeks, possibly months. _Oh no._ "The witch refused?"

"Yes. Dad didn't waste his time. He's wasted enough already, so he wanted to just be done with her as fast as possible, but it didn't quite work out like he'd planned. Mother laughed in his face, literally. She composed herself pretty fast, almost impressively, after being handed the evidence of her affair," Peeta gulps and takes a pause.

"So the photos didn't work?" I ask in the same quiet tone and, if we weren't standing so close, I would've had to repeat myself again for sure.

All it takes for me to turn around, not standing to look at him anymore, is the slow shake of his head. _No. _My hands are still warm in my pockets, so to turn me back around he gently grabs me by the waist instead.

"Thank you."

"What are you thanking _me_ for?" I laugh and you don't have to be an investigator to know it's not real. With our proximity I can't possibly be cold anymore and his chest is shielding me from the wind, so I can't blame the dampness in my eyes for anything else than what it is for. Tears.

"More than you can ever know." _I have got to work on reading Peeta Mellark._ "Listen, even if things aren't good right now, at least I've seen a glimpse that they could be. My father hasn't had that spark in his eyes for _years_, Katniss. Even while we were packing or looking at Rye's wounds, he looked happier than I can remember."

"What exactly is the situation?"

"When my mother refused to sign, I think she thought dad would give up. She underestimated him. She didn't expect him to fight back, and really, who could blame her? They keep surprising each other with their moves, but that doesn't mean the game's over. They're just playing the hard way, the way with attorneys and hours spent in court. Mom refuses to stop working in the bakery and move out, despite the fact that it all belonged to my grandparents; she did gain a certain percent with the marriage. Dad refuses to be under one roof with her, so I guess neither one of us will be. Until it's settled, I don't know what mother's going to do, probably stay at her lover's, I could care less, but we are moving to Bannock's. Not going to be fun, I'll probably have to sleep on the ground or share a bed with Rye, because a room wasn't enough already," Peeta explains.

It doesn't seem like a fun game to play, but I could learn the rules. Nodding, I start walking again, thoughtful.

"Maybe I can help," I hurry to say, after catching a glimpse of my house down the street.

"You've done enough." He doesn't say it as a snide remark. Not like Rye said it earlier today, but it still knocks the breath out of my lungs.

Peeta, noticing my reaction, gives me a concerned look, but I let out a shaky breath and continue. "I mean it. I know an attorney. He's a pain in the ass, but he gets the job done. And, I mean, if you want to, we can look up the divorce process together. I know barely anything about that, so you probably don't have _any_ idea at all. I _do_ know you're going to have to be prepared to take that bitch down, so we could check out at all the wounds she's left you with… I mean figuratively! If you want to," I repeat, my hands out of my pockets now and nervously playing with each other instead. I'd rather die from cold than from embarrassment.

"Yeah, we could do that. Thanks, schoolmate." We share a smile as I'm climbing the porch steps of my house.

I'm about to open the door, when I remember something. Peeta's standing in the exact same place when I turn around, not where I was expecting him to be - halfway down the street.

"Peeta, why did you think I wouldn't have come to the bakery if I knew the whole story?"

He sucks in a deep breath, as if he's preparing for his answer to open new kinds of long discussions. "Are we not at the part where it's, what's it called, case closed right now? I tho- I had _convinced_ myself we'd just continue going to school every day, circling each other, but always running when we get to close. Like the bread, you know? With your debt repaid, you had no reason to bring the medicine to my brother or offering all of the things you did, but you did it anyway. I don't understand why."

He's not asking me to run away from the question like I've been running away from _him_ for years and tell him I'm kind like that to my classmates. Because I'm not kind like that to _all_ of my classmates. Really, he's not _asking_ me for anything, but if I feel free enough to, I could give him something anyway.

"It felt like the right thing. It _feels_ like the right thing. I don't have any more answers for you, but I can tell you for sure that ''pity'' wouldn't be one of them." I've stolen his own words again, but for once they're real. Turning around, I step inside. I lock the door behind me.

Whatever it is he's running from, I'm right behind.


	4. How do you feel when there's no sun?

**The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

You know that feeling when you can feel people's gaze on you for some unknown reason? When the reason being unknown is even more unpleasant than everyone trying to burn a hole right through your braid?

I don't. Because I always know the reason.

Last year, Madeleine Ashmore's mother paid me to prove her daughter gets her good grades in English on her own. When it turned out that she copies half of her test from a friend and the other from the notes she takes in class, it was like I opened the gates to hell. Madeleine was grounded until the summer and she, or her friends, didn't like that one bit. They made sure to sit close to me during classes and make sure I lived in my own personal hell. I failed exams and didn't answer questions right because I couldn't concentrate from the constant kicking on my chair. I knew better than to stand up for myself. What would I say? I don't like what my job sometimes forces me to do either.

This time it's different. What I did for the Mellarks… that was right.

That's what I keep reminding myself as I make my way to my and Madge's table. She's late again, but I doubt it's because of a fight, since I haven't seen the main troublemaker around school today. His brother is, though. I guess they're done packing, or maybe that's what Rye's home for. My version is his bruises kept him in bed. I would've asked Peeta, but he walked right past me in the hallway and didn't turn around even once in History. He's colder to me now than he was during the many years we spent not having spoken a word to each other. I don't care. It's not like anything's changed. This is the way things used to be and I _need_ things to be the way they used to be. _I don't care._

I do care. I do care that everyone, Seam and town, are staring as I take a bite of the last cheese bun Peeta gave me on Sunday. The bakery's been closed for two days. The _only_ bakery. There's no need to ask why or thanks to whom. I hope the torture doesn't start today because I have a Biology exam I know I can nail (unless someone is snickering in my ear; haven't I had enough, haven't I seen the emptiness in my mother's eyes and what it did to her to lose her husband and oh, our poor family, haven't I faced starvation right in the eyes and I can hear it already because it's what I've told myself too).

I stand up and gather all of my stuff, except what's left of the cheese bun, which doesn't make me feel much better, because _no matter what you do, you __**never**__ throw away food. _I leave the cafeteria from the door leading to outside, closing the door as quietly as possible. It didn't matter, as I catch a glimpse of everyone's eyes trained on me, some even turned around on their chairs.

Outside there are tables too, empty now, but full of students whenever the weather's good. I don't mind the cold and I could easily stay here, but with the big cafeteria windows I might've as well remained inside. So I run and don't stop until I've reached the other side of the school building.

Excluding the woods, this is my favorite place. The reason I like it so much, really, is because there's nowhere else you have such a good view at them. The meadow leading to them is too big, bigger than the one by my house, but just the tiniest glimpse makes me miss the weight of the quiver on my back or just the silence you can't find at a school full of hormonal teenagers. It would be so easy to jump the school's fence and take off. It would also be incredibly dumb. Even I'm not quick enough not to get noticed before I'm too far away to be recognized.

I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts, I instinctively reach for an arrow when I hear unknown footsteps. Except they're not unknown.

"Sorry," Peeta says, after seeing how I jump in surprise.

Shrugging, I take a seat on the one and only bench. It's been here since the first day I found this place in 7th grade. It was old _then_, so you can imagine the condition it's in _now_.

"Are you okay?" I want to roll my eyes at how predictable he is. Treating me like I don't exist in public, but when we're alone – like I'm his bestest friend. Again, _I don't care_, but he has no right to come to _my_ place. How does he even _know _my place?

"What are you doing here?" I ask my own, instead of answering _his_ question.

"Delly told me you looked very upset."

"Was that before or after you guilt tripped me with your _rich kids_ friends at your _rich kids_ table?" I blurt out, before I even think about it. I saw exactly where Delly was today – at the table where the most snickers were coming from. Merchants don't need to be worried the bakery's closed; it's going to cost them a bit more, but they can survive on other food for a while or buy damn ingredients themselves.

"It was before she proposed to find the nurse and after she searched the whole school to find me." I don't even bother trying to hold his steady gaze to intimidate him, I just dart my eyes away, back to the woods.

"Sorry," I say and he shrugs, much like I did a moment ago, and sits down next to me. We sit in silence for a while.

"What are you doing here?" Peeta sighs, knowing I wasn't satisfied with his last answer.

"Are you okay?" This time I _do_ roll my eyes. "I wanted to make sure you are. You _should_ be. You don't deserve this."

"What exactly is_ this_? Some dumb girls, whose personal cheap dictionaries, happen to be 90% profanities? Guys, whose lives are over after high school, bumping me into lockers? _They can't get to me._"

"Obviously they can, since you prefer to freeze out here than to enjoy your food inside where it's warm. As warm as it gets in the damn school, anyway," Peeta says.

"I'm okay, _okay_? I just got a little tired of listening to people who don't know the truth or glaring at me for something I had no control over. It'll all be water under the bridge by next year," I insist, though deep down I'm not so sure.

"I'm sorry you got dragged into this."

"Don't be. I'm not. I know what I was signing up for. I didn't expect it to happen and I thought it'd be half done by now, but the risk was always there. It's not the first time, it won't be the last. This just happens to be a more… personal case and yeah, maybe they do get to me, but that's just because they don't know I did the right thing." Oh, if people only knew the bruises Peeta sports from time to time aren't from wrestling or bumping into doors… I doubt I'd be the one they try to burn holes through. They'd literally burn the witch. Everyone likes Peeta. That's why they choose to gossip about Rye, isolate me, but not Peeta.

I don't dare turn around, feeling his gaze all over me. I stare right ahead at the only image that calms me down, but it's no use, because when I finally turn back to Peeta, my heart jumps. He's so close. Have his eyes always been so blue?

I lean back against the bench, feigning tiredness. "How did you find me so fast?"

Peeta's the one who turns away this time, scratching his neck. _Interesting_.

"Well, um… I've kind of seen you here before. On more than one occasion."

That's not possible. If anyone saw me I'd switch places immediately. I'm actually not sure I would've if it was just Peeta, but still… _I would have known_.

"When?"

"The first time was when I was still a wrestler. The gym has an exit right behind that corner." He points to the left. "Everyone always exits from the school's doors, but I personally don't feel like going through the halls again after spending the entire day doing that already. So I'd get home from this way instead."

"Still, I would see you if you pass right in front of me. And what was I doing here after classes are over, anyway?"

"You were waiting for your sister," Peeta says and I raise an eyebrow at his certainty. "When I saw you, I stopped in my tracks and hid behind the corner. That makes me sound like a stalker. I'm not, I promise. I just didn't want to disturb you, unlike I did just a few minutes ago. You look so peaceful here, you know that? I can only imagine what you're like in the woods."

_Gale says I never smile except in the woods_. Gale is wrong.

Seeing the corners of my mouth tug up slightly, Peeta relaxes and smiles sheepishly too.

"Prim called you shortly after. I didn't just sit there for hours staring, so don't you think that." I didn't think that. Except now that I _do_ think about it… Why didn't he tell me he was glad that after all he didn't have to take the other way out? That's what would've happened if Prim had taken longer, isn't it?

"I never got to see you here after practice again." _Get to see me._ As if we're friends or something. "But there have been other cases, when I'd avoid going home and circle the school instead. Sometimes you'll be here, sometimes not. Either way it helped."

My heart clenches at the thought of Peeta not being able to find solace in the one place you're supposed to feel safe at. My rage is soothed by the thought of him finding it here. Or in me.

I gulp. "Why did you stop wrestling?" I do wonder. He came in second in a competition last year, only after Rye. What's changed since then?

"My mother," he says and I wish I hadn't asked. I should've seen this coming. "She used to love listening to people compliment her sons on their success, but then she stopped coming to the bakery at all. Makes sense now. Can't be in two places at once and lovers are more important than anything." I've never heard his voice this bitter. It's not self-pitying; it's anger, it's not being able to understand how can someone be this cruel. I don't get it either. "She signed me off without even asking me, but kept Rye on the team. Now she can have both – the good comments and the balance in the bakery. Not that she got much of anything done, anyway."

I imagine having to give up something you love to do. Then having to see somebody else doing it. Peeta's not the kind of person to say "If I can't have it, you can't either", in fact, I bet he just smiles through it all and claps Rye on the back. He just shouldn't have to. I place my hand on his, the one he has on his knee.

"Peeta, is she going to fight for you too? I mean, is she okay with the fact that you've just left with your father?" The question whether the witch is going to give up her sons just like that has been on my mind since I learned this is going to be taken to the judge.

I don't get an answer for a while. Peeta just stares at our hands, for so long, I grow concerned. What's so bad?

"I kind of thought she'd want at least the scandal, you know? It'd look good. It'd be a good story. She'd make my father the bad guy, make her lover "the new father". Except she has no time or desire even for that. I'm not sad, I'm not angry, I'm just… shocked. That's what makes it worse. You'd think I learned my lesson. Money comes before family. Always has, always will."

I don't tell him that this is for the best. If she wanted to take her children too, then the lawsuit would surely be prolonged. I don't even want to think about the possibility of her winning it. Then it would've been all for nothing. There's no way I'm letting her walk out of this a victor.

"Well, she's not getting either of those," I assure Peeta, absently stroking his hand. "I'm going to the lawyer I told you about after school. Do you know if your mother has found one already?"

"Haven't talked to her since all of this started. That's what me and dad agreed is best." I nod in agreement. "But I'm pretty sure a friend of hers is a lawyer. Whether they still keep contact I don't know, but it's a possibility she'll be the one we're facing. Carol something."

"Should be easy to track her down. I'll tell you about both of them tomorrow… perhaps tonight? Do you have a phone I can reach you at?"

"Wouldn't it be easier if I just came with you to this lawyer of yours? He'd probably want to have at least the slightest idea about who he's going to be working for," Peeta suggests.

"He doesn't have much of a choice here. It's not like people search for a lawyer every day, you know. And even if he _was_ picky, I'm not asking for his opinion. We need the best, _he's the best_. We're getting him." I come out more confident than I sound in my head. To be honest, I've been denied his partnership more than once. "It wouldn't hurt if you join me, no. He lives pretty far, so we're going with my car. Do you need to go to Bannock's after school or…?"

"No, if you're okay with leaving right away, then it's fine." I nod, thankful for once for the bad weather that forced me to drive me and my sister this morning. Now we won't have to waste time going back to my house. I can only hope Gale's going to be okay with taking Prim there. "We have 6th period together, anyway," Peeta says.

I nod again, just as the first bell rings. "I have P.E. now. See you then?" After he nods back, I take off in the direction of the gym, taking the same road that Peeta does.

* * *

The biology quiz went pretty well, I think. It was the same period Peeta and I had together. When I arrived, I was relieved to find him behind my usual seat and not Madeleine or whoever felt like messing with me today. I was able to answer all of the questions and even help Peeta out with a few when he started, subconsciously, kicking my chair to relieve his stress.

There are still a couple of minutes left, but I've already handed over my sheet to the teacher. On the same note I've written down some of the answers to the quiz, I add where my car is located in the parking lot. Stretching my arm backwards as if to fix my braid, I pass the note to the still working Peeta and begin to gather my stuff. When I lean down to put everything in my bag that's carelessly left on the floor, I spot the small sheet of paper next to my shoe.

"_Wait for me outside the classroom?_"

I sigh quietly, knowing it's useless to avoid it anymore. It's not like people haven't been staring at each of us all day, but I'd rather not witness the chaos when they see us _together_.

The bell rings, so getting up, I turn around and give Peeta a quick nod before leaving the classroom. I lean against the wall next to the door. Being one of the first to walk out, I am now forced to witness everyone else doing it. The reason for the double stares isn't hard to guess. I don't have many friends. Who could I possibly be waiting for?

After what seems like hours (but it can't be because there are still students in the hallway… unless they've stopped just for me), Peeta leaves the classroom. He's not alone. The boy he's chatting with seems confused when they stop not long after the door. It's not until he spots me that he realizes Peeta's reached his destination. I keep my eyes on the floor the whole time, but I quickly grow impatient and look the guy straight in his. After he finally nods goodbye, Peeta turns to me, "Come on."

Most of the remaining in the hallway still have classes left and are standing closely to their lockers, either taking out their books or chatting. Unfortunately, that forces us to walk right in the middle, where, even if you don't want to, you _will_ see us. The only person I'm glad to spot is Gale, who, as my sister, has 1 more class and will then drive her home with his truck, as promised.

I'm not so happy about the others. I try to keep my eyes on the ground as I've learned is best, but the many people that pass are making it impossible. To help us get through faster or for comfort, I don't know, Peeta grabs my hand. He doesn't have time to lace his fingers with mine before I'm pushing his hand away and putting my own in my jacket's pockets. This doesn't go unnoticed by neither Peeta, nor everyone that's got their attention on us. I imagine some are shaking their heads in disapproval, some saying Seam trash like me obviously doesn't deserve him, but I only care about Peeta's reaction. He's looking miserable as if the school day just started instead of ended. Still, when a big group of students walk right through us, more than likely on purpose almost bumping me into a teacher, I feel his gentle push on my back. Not long after that we're finally outside.

It's not until we've hurried to my car and settled next to each other that I blurt out, "What were you thinking?"

"Judging by your voice, I wasn't," Peeta says, buckling his seatbelt. I don't bother with my own for now, because I have no intention of leaving the parking lot until we settle this and he understands why I'm upset.

"What about what _they_ were thinking? I don't want anyone, including you by the way, to come to the conclusion that I'm doing this because we're friends or something. We're not." Obviously, since it's like I don't exist whenever someone else is with us. And it was _me_ who helped _him _in Biology.

He huffs, exhaling a cold breath. There isn't a heater in my car. Investigating in the winter is a pain in the ass. "Okay. I enjoyed that thought for as long as I could… wish it was for longer, but okay."

Okay? I huff too, turning to buckle my seatbelt. With my shaking hands it seems impossible, so I just give up and turn to Peeta again. "Which part did you enjoy? The one where I'm kind to you and you're kind to me and it's all okay, until it's not just the two of us anymore? It really seems like a good deal, now that I think about it, I see why you wouldn't think twice about walking past me in the hallway."

Thankfully, he doesn't deny it. I would've started the car just to dump him on the side of the road if he even tried to. "I didn't think much about it, no. And walking past you isn't nearly my best, or I guess my _worst_. I switched directions to avoid interacting with you and might of have overslept today to miss our first period together."

I can't believe he's saying these things to me. Why did I sign up for this case at all?

"I'm so sorry." I look up, surprised. "I thought you'd get it. I was doing it to avoid what just happened when we walked down the hallway together. But then lunch happened and I realized I was going at it the wrong way."

"That was stupid, Peeta. We already have more than enough attention separately." I don't tell him how I was dreading being spotted with him too. Seriously, if he had stopped me when we saw each other in the hallway, there's a possibility I would've ran away.

"I know. There's nothing to hide. I'm never hanging with half of those idiots ever again. I thought we could spend lunch together from now on, but since we're not friends…"

"We're friends," I interrupt him. "I'm sorry I pushed you away. It was an instinct to protect us."

When he hesitantly grasps my hands, I don't hesitate to link my fingers through his. I end up driving with just one hand the whole time.

* * *

"Have you ever been here before?" I ask Peeta when we step out of the car. The small village is about 3 miles from the center of town and it seems like another world entirely even in our small district. There are twelve houses, each large enough to hold ten of my own. Eleven stand empty, as they always have. The only one in use belongs to Haymitch Abernathy.

Haymitch's the richest citizen of district 12 and his wealth obviously comes from his family and not just his job which he rarely does. Strangely, he lives all alone now. I don't know what happened to his close ones. He's the only one who can afford to not only rent a house here, but buy it. People that are in the district for a visit usually stay in this village.

Peeta shakes his head, looking around. I almost laugh at his astonished expression as he takes everything in, but I know my own reaction wasn't much different when my father first brought me here as a child. Dad didn't look too happy then and wanted to get home as soon as possible, but I never forgot this place.

"Wait…" Peeta says, clearly realizing where we are. "You're taking me to the district's drunkard?"

"Do you believe every story that people go around saying about me?" That shuts him up as we make our way through the village. "Well, actually, most of the stories about Haymitch _are_ true. But he still gets the job done as long as he has the desire to do so."

"No offense, Katniss, but we're just a couple of kids. He probably has more money than he needs. Why would he want to help us?"

"None taken, Peeta, but he _is_ going to help us. It's all about acquaintances. Haymitch and I, we go way back." Haymitch and _my father_ go way back, we can barely stand each other, but what he doesn't know can't hurt him.

Haymitch's house, despite the care taken by the grounds-keeper, exudes an air of abandonment and neglect. I brace myself at his front door, look at Peeta, then push inside without bothering to knock first. He's not going to answer. My nose immediately wrinkles in disgust. Haymitch refuses to let anyone in to clean and does a poor job himself. Over the years the odors of liquor and vomit, boiled cabbage and burned meat, unwashed clothes and mouse droppings have intermingled into a stench that brings tears to my eyes. I wade through a litter of discarded wrappings, broken glass, and bones to where I know I will find Haymitch. He sits at the kitchen table, his arms sprawled across the wood, his face in a puddle of liquor, snoring his head off. I nudge his shoulder. "Get up!" I say loudly.

Nothing. Haymitch is still dead to the world. I make Peeta fill a basin with icy cold water and before he can stop me, I dump it on Haymitch's head. A guttural animal sound comes from his throat. He jumps up, kicking his chair ten feet behind him and wielding a knife. Spewing profanity, he slashes the air a few moments before coming to his senses. He wipes his face on his shirtsleeve, glaring at me. Then he notices I'm not alone.

"New boyfriend?" I hate myself for the heat in my cheeks, since that was obviously his intention.

"My name's Peeta Mellark," he intervenes, taking out his hand for Haymitch to shake, which he of course doesn't do and instead chooses to stare Peeta up and down.

At least he got Haymitch's interest, as he is now staring at me with eyebrows raised, silently asking me how did _I_ manage to find someone so well-mannered. Thankfully, he doesn't say it aloud or any other jab at me, and moves on. He does know I don't just bring in people like that unless it's business.

"What can I do for you, Peeta Mellark? Oh, wait a minute. Tell me you're Mellark as in _Mellark bakery_." Peeta nods, confused. "Good, that's good. Then, whatever your problem is, I'm not fixing it unless the payment is in food."

"Haymitch, that's ridiculous-" I start to protest, but Peeta interrupts me.

"I'm sure that can be arranged even though the bakery's not open right now… That's kind of why I'm here, actually."

As Peeta explains the situation, Haymitch listens surprisingly attentively, even asks him the right kind of questions at the right places. I'm not needed much until after Haymitch's officialy agreed to be on Mr. Mellark's side.

"I see you strongly believe in what you're fighting for, but there are going to be people that are completely indifferent. You need to convince them, collect strong evidence against that woman." _As we were planning to. _"I'm going to contact her soon, but you stay away!"

"Thank you, Haymitch," I say finally.

"Yeah, yeah, just doing my job. Send me whatever I need to sign and you tell your dad to come see me sometime this week." He turns to Peeta, who can only nod, trying to contain his emotions.

I stare at him on the way to the car, trying to gauge his reaction, but he's completely still. It's all over when we get inside. He starts laughing and I sense where this is going immediately. He's been trying to be strong for too long and I knew it was about time for him to break. I had just selfishly hoped it wouldn't be in my company, because for some reason whenever he's hurt it reflects right back to me. I've already leant forward and rested my head on his shoulder when his cries begin.

"Dont. Don't, she doesn't deserve it," I say close to his ear. It doesn't work and I realize how truly scared he is. "Shh, you'll be okay." _I'll be with you._

"Katniss?" I hear him say after a while with a sniff.

"Hm?" _I could fall asleep like this._

"I want you to tell them about the bread."

I feel chills all the way down to my toes. _The bread_, which we do _not_ talk about. He wants me to talk about it in front of strangers. I stand up straight to look at him properly.

"Me?"

"Yes. Her attitude towards me is going to be pretty obvious by that point. They need to know how she was to you, too."

"She was hardly the only one, Peeta," I say sadly, but also matter-of-factly. I hate her more for the bruise on him than for the emptiness in my stomach.

"Doesn't matter. I want her to regret it," he spits out, staring at the raindrops that have begun to collect on the window, while I can't take my eyes off him.

"Then I'm going to tell them about the boy with the bread, too." My quiet, but determined voice breaks at the end and I wouldn't be sure whether he heard me if I hadn't felt him turn to me suddenly. I don't look back, not when I start the car and not when I pull up to Bannock's house that Peeta had to break the silence and direct me to.

I do look when, after a short goodbye without even waiting for my response, Peeta gets out of the car and hurries inside the house, either because of the rain or to get away from me. I'll never know.

* * *

It bugs me all through the rest of the day, making me snappy even at Prim. It's not until after dinner when I'm laying on my stomach, looking up information about his mother's friend on my laptop, that I finally find a good enough reason to contact him. I dial his phone number. He picks up immediately. I wonder if he would've done the same if it wasn't an unknown caller, but _Katniss_ on his screen.

"Hello?" His voice is raspy as if he's just woken up. I look at the clock. 7:30pm.

"Sorry, were you sleeping?"

"Katniss? Um yeah, thought I'd get a few hours on Bannock's bed before I have to move to the floor." He laughs. "It's okay, though, he's probably already planning to storm in and throw me out, so thanks."

"You're welcome?" I laugh awkwardly, glad that at least it's not the kind of awkward I expected. "Well, um... your mom's friend, or should I say her official lawyer, sure is something. Caroline Campbell, born here but studied in district 2, has lived in the Capitol, has won every case she's had come her way, and not just in this district."

"Well... though I'm sure the reason my mother finds her acceptable is because of her connections to the Capitol, that's probably more than even she knows."

I laugh. "I have my sources."

"I guess that's also where you took my telephone number from?"

I flush because it is. "Well, you never got to give it to me!"

"Who said I wanted to give it to you in the first place?"

"Peeta..."

"Yes, Katniss..." he says, mimicking my tone.

"There's an empty place at my lunch table tomorrow."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. Here's the deal: you get me to 10 reviews and I post the next chapter ASAP? Honestly, I just want to know what you think. Oh, and what kind of car Katniss would have, because I'm stuck.


End file.
